


Wolf Lone & Raven Bones

by threelittlebirds



Series: Revolutionary [2]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Artistic Bonding, Canon Compliant, Canon Speculation, Eventual Smut, Everything Hurts, F/M, Fluff, Lavellan Perspective, Slow Burn, Solas Perspective, post game speculation, post game spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-13
Updated: 2015-03-19
Packaged: 2018-03-12 05:47:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3345818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/threelittlebirds/pseuds/threelittlebirds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The soldiers were almost afraid to look upon her, and spoke of her in hushed whispers: the Herald of Andraste. All Solas saw as a pale elven girl marked with the power of a failed god.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>Of gods they sang, a past gone too soon<br/>The girl with broken eyes that saw too much,<br/>And her wolf, that mourned the moon.</p><p>---<br/>A mid and post Inquisition Solavellan longform fic that expands on the ending. All that occurs prior is (mostly) canonical with slight deviation (improvements). All of this will be one giant spoiler, as the perspective will sometimes be from Solas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Familiar, Safe and Warm

**Author's Note:**

> I apologise in advance for how much of an ass Solas is. He gets better (ish, this is Solas) I promise. He's just bitter.

Cassandra carried her prone form from the crater. She was still breathing, shallow, unsteady, but alive. Again. It defied all reason, the magic involved should have torn her body apart, but perhaps the tiny elf was stronger than she looked.

They took her to one of the cabins in the ruined town, its owners long since vanished, and laid her on the bed. Reverent. The soldiers were almost afraid to look upon her, and spoke of her in hushed whispers: the Herald of Andraste. All Solas saw as a pale elven girl marked with the power of a failed god.

The mark had stabilised, as had the breach, and her coma would surely lift soon enough, he’d felt her mind hovering near consciousness. Covertly, he’d tried once again to lift the power from her while she lay, but it remained steadfast and stubborn, unwilling to leave its host. He needed his foci, and even then he wondered whether she’d survive having that power ripped from her. The longer this went on, the worse it would be surely. That was simply an obstacle to be overcome when he reached it, it would do no good to linger on such thoughts.

When she finally emerged, he could only stand and watch as the desperate flocked to her as a prophet, could only watch as she squirmed under their gaze. How fickle they were in their worship, where only days before they’d called for her head. Perhaps not so different from the prophet they lauded her as, though they would have to hope for a better ending than a meeting with the funeral pyre.

She stumbled through official sanctions and chantry glares, fumbling and lost, but still afloat. Perhaps he should have helped. But the advice of an apostate would have hardly been welcome, and it would have been unwise to draw further attention to himself. While the Chantry scrambled and the Inquisition desperately tried to maintain order, their seeing eyes were off him. Hers weren’t and he caught her watching sometimes. She’d always look away, disappear off again, never coming close. Wary, but what of he couldn’t rightly say.

Instead, the little elven mage tried to befriend the city elf; almost a comedy in and of itself, or it would have been had he not begun to feel a twinge of pity for her. It was quite clear that Sera wanted nothing to do with the Dalish, and he could watch conflicting ideologies play across the apprentice Keeper’s features. She wanted to be kind, but oh, Sera made it hard. Ilynwe left the tavern dejected more than once, always dragging her feet as she limped away, her optimism taking yet another blow. The final time there might have been more steel in her step.

It was fascinating: she truly seemed to have none of the outward animosity of the Dalish hunters for -what was their charming name?- flat ears? Their Keepers were usually the most arrogant of all, but perhaps the conclave had spared her such a fate. Luck and fortune, if it could be called that. Her path changed however, not turning towards the chantry but instead padding up the snow-covered steps. Looking for him. Perhaps she thought Sera would have been an easier target. She’d been wrong.

“Andaran atish’an,” she murmured, quiet, so very quiet - even her footsteps were muted. A formal greeting, and she only shot nervous glances at him, she wouldn’t meet his gaze.

“Aneth ara, da’len,” he smiled, studying her curious complexion once more. A condition of some sort surely: no one was that pale, and her eyes were strange too. Deep blue, almost violet in the centre. “The chosen of Andraste. A fabled hero come to save us all.”

Predictably, she frowned, digging a divot of snow up with her boot. “They’re wrong.”

“Perhaps not entirely,” he smiled, determined to earn more than two words from her.

“You think I’m the Herald of Andraste?” she narrowed her eyes at him, and he struggled not to smirk at the polite tone of voice. She knew she was being played with, but she wouldn't confront him, not directly it seemed. Who’d taught her such manners, not her Keeper surely?

“No, da’len,” he replied with quiet chuckle. “But someone has to save us.”

She merely hummed in response - whether in agreeance or annoyance at such a sentiment undoubtedly being repeated, he was unsure. Solas rather suspected the latter. She merely seemed unwilling to rise to his game, or anyone else’s that matter, which given their circumstances was perhaps the wisest course of action.

“Was there something you wanted?” he asked, gentler this time.

Ilynwe studied her feet for a moment longer, a half smile playing at her lips before casting him with a curious look loaded with wide, sad eyes. The effect was not lost on him. “I simply wished to know more about you.”

“You wish to know more of me?” he asked, hoping it would be enough to deflect the question before it even began. Perhaps the thought of prying might deter her. No such luck, however, and she stood her ground.

“You’re an elven apostate who risked his life to help the Inquisition without prompting or duress. I’m just curious as to why.”

If he’d thought her capable of suspicion, he might have been more concerned about such a question. Why indeed?

“And you’d learn that by knowing more about me?”

“Yes.”

That probably should have made him nervous. “Very well da’len. What would you know?”

Much to his curiosity -and sometimes confusion- she kept returning to him, as though drawn by some unseen thread. Whether she’d worked out his weakness for sharing knowledge or simply had somehow avoided the innate Dalish inability to listen, he couldn’t say. In either case, she seemed more than content to find somewhere to perch: the back of a chair, crosslegged on the ground, a workbench, a barrel -never anywhere normal, he’d noticed- and listen to him speak of things he’d seen. In the fade, of course.

He simply couldn’t help himself, perhaps it was the countless years of solitude, but she seemed an eager learner, perhaps too eager. The mageling studied him, her lingering glances not merely attentive and she never said much during their discussions, her words always carefully considered. Her questions seemed innocent enough and she offered him pretty smiles, but her gaze unnerved him and he began to wonder if she saw too much. She was clever, he’d give her that much, but her origin made her uniquely dangerous to him, to his position there. If Ilynwe suspected he was not being wholly truthful in their discussions, she never said anything. And that concerned him most of all.

That morning he found her waiting for him, returning from collecting another batch of dried elfroot. She murmured a greeting, as she always did, eyeing the herbs with mild interest. Their meetings were quickly becoming routine, which were welcome if not underscored with underlying tension. She was never fully at ease, and neither was he. Perhaps she was still waiting for the answer to her question. Perhaps she’d already found it.

“Why are you drying them?” she asked, holding open the door so he could take the bundled herbs in without setting them down.

Solas deposited the elfroot in a chest, kicking it open with a foot and leaving the lid to close behind him. “I intend to make a concentrate from it. Far more portable -and effective- for treating lingering injuries.”

“Wouldn’t that be better achieved by distilling it?” she asked, hopping onto one of the spare benchtops. The wood didn’t even creak under her weight.

He smiled quietly to himself, dusting off his hands on his breeches. “Too much waste. This utilises more of the herb itself.”

This, it appeared, was how to inspire more conversation from her. “But drying it loses so much of the oil, my Keeper always taught that the distilled oil was more potent.”

“Oh?” Solas smiled, “Have you considered they might not be correct?” About so many, many things.

“Do you have a problem with the Dalish?” she asked, and she sat a little straighter, tilted her chin up. There it was. He’d been waiting for that arrogance to surface.

“It seems, da’len, that the Dalish have a problem with me,” he replied, averting his eyes and turning to make some corrections to a scroll he’d been drafting. His turned back hide his smile.

“That wasn’t an answer.”

Solas paused, looking over his shoulder. Her eyes were on him again: not exactly angry, but there was a challenge there.

“Not the one you were looking for,” he smiled, not unkindly, and the momentary flash of backbone was gone: retreating behind averted eyes. No anger, something else. Already he was beginning to regret his choice of words. He tried again.

“Why did you come here, da’len?”

“It doesn’t matter,” she murmured, pushing herself off the bench. She landed lightly, and met his eyes. Hers seemed sad again. Then she turned and left.

He watched her go without a word, but the guilt gnawed at him. Homesick, missing the forest, hating the bite of cold snow on her skin. She sought the familiar, to be safe and warm, to find some comfort in this place. He knew the feeling well. He should not have been so unkind.

Almost all of the wildberries in the area had been bitten by the cold, and in the end he had to salvage some from one of the merchants but it was worth it. He spent the morning hovering over a steaming pot while they boiled down into a sticky syrup, nearly burning his fingers as he wrapped the cooling toffee around sticks, put on the windowsill to cool. He left the sweets by her window with a single word penned in elegant script. He’d never been good at apologies.

She didn’t say anything, but she didn’t seem angry either. There were no further visits from her, but when their small party ventured east into the warmth of the Hinterlands the elven mage visibly relaxed. Away from the humans, away from the chantry, away from the buildings. Peace. He’d have been lying if he didn’t share the sentiment, the persistent threat of attack by man or beast notwithstanding. Cassandra was still irate, more so in the mornings they’d all discovered very quickly: even Bull gave her a wide berth. Ilynwe made her some kind of Dalish tea that smelled like cinnamon and all was well.

Marching out was at first an interesting experience, with no true leader of the party. Sometimes it would be the Seeker, other times the Bull would charge ahead in pursuit of a bear to the annoyance of Cassandra. For the most part the young elven mage seemed content to follow along with their stronger personalities, though it was most curious when she did take charge, leading them up an almost vertical rock face and somehow finding the path or scouting ahead: her Keeper’s training showing through no doubt. Slowly, a team dynamic emerged between the almost hourly clashes with rebel forces. He might even have said he enjoyed it: purpose, the impression of making progress toward a goal, no matter how small. Direction was something he’d missed for a very long time.

It was the first time he’d truly seen the mage fight, his interest purely professional curiosity of course. Different from a Circle mage, but then she’d have to be, he’d never seen someone so tightly wound. Ilynwe’s casting was so controlled her magic was strangled, kept under wraps - not a Dalish trait. What spells she did use were well executed, painstakingly accurate but ultimately wasted.

Noticing such accuracy did nothing for his own health however, and his distraction meant a stray arrow slipped past his barrier and grazed his thigh. Solas hissed in breath, immediately feeling the sting but knowing it wouldn’t kill him. Before he could retaliate, the offending archer across the field erupted in a cone of ice and lightning, frozen momentarily in place with another arrow knocked before the streak of lightning hit them and they shattered into a thousand tiny pieces. He nodded in thanks to the Dalish mage, who returned the gesture before aiming another bolt at a footsoldier.

The rest of the renegades were dispatched quickly, and he knelt as the last of them fell to inspect the wound with a grimace. Ilynwe came rushing over, dropping to one knee as he dabbed around the gash experimentally, to see how deep it was.

“Solas, are you-” she stopped when she saw the steady trickle of blood down his leg, while he tried not to be distracted by her frantic tone or her flushed cheeks. Her palm lit up blue and he felt her summon the magic - more perhaps than even she’d been using during the fight. Then, she’d hesitated. “Here, let me.”

“It will be fine, da’len, there’s no need-”

She ignored his protests, hand still glowing with energy. “ _Let me_.”

It would do no good to tell her he’d had a lifetime of practice -lifetimes of practice- so he nodded for her to proceed, hoping it would further the peace offering. Her magic flared and swelled while Cassandra and Bull came jogging over. Skin and muscle reconnected and the wound was gone, leaving only a slash in the material.

“Is everything alright?” demanded the Seeker, hand still on the pommel of her sword.

“Yes, thank you, Cassandra,” Solas said, both he and the little mage standing and dusting themselves off. “No lasting harm done.”

The Seeker nodded brusquely, “Good,” before marching off with Bull in tow to ensure they’d all done the job well and none of the renegades had managed to crawl off. Ilynwe hovered, anxious while he shifted his weight. Not even a twinge.

“Thank you,” he murmured, earning a warm smile; and her ears twitched happily. “...And I am sorry. I did not think I would be staying long enough to cause offense.”

“You’re not staying?” Ilynwe’s cheeks flushed noticeably more red when she realised how worried her tone sounded, and he had to resist the urge to chuckle.

“The Seeker means well, she’s an honorable woman,” Solas replied. “But I am an apostate surrounded by Chantry forces, and have no divine mark to protect me. Even Cassandra may not be able to ensure my safety.”

“I won’t let them hurt you.”

He did chuckle a little at her steadfast optimism, though she might have understood the templar threat better than most. “And just how would you protect me, da’len?”

“Any way I had to.”

He held her gaze for a moment, steady and unwavering, and he believed her.

“Ma serannas,” he murmured after another breath passed, and the moment was broken. She looked down again, the rosy colour at the tips of her ears deepening. “I’ll not leave before the breach is sealed, that much I can promise.”

The rest of the day passed without major incident, the only change being that the Dalish mage struck up a conversation with him. Solas smiled only for a moment before answering her query. If all was not forgiven, it was a start at least. Cassandra and Bull exchanged combat techniques between themselves, forming an unlikely alliance around the campfire at night. The elven mage however, seemed to shy away, disappearing altogether for a time before Solas spotted her pale figure at the edge of camp, well away from the warmth and the light.

“What are you doing out here, da’len?”

“Just resting,” she murmured, not looking back and hugging her knees to her chest as she perched on an overhanging rock. Her feet massaged the soft moss between her toes, sponging it experimentally. Perhaps a nervous habit, perhaps not. “The fire hurts my eyes.”

“But surely you’ll freeze,” he cocked his head, eyeing the goosebumps that rose freely on her arms. He’d never seen her use fire magic, not once, though he didn’t doubt she could if she chose to. “Why not heat the air around you?”

“Then it wouldn’t be resting.”

“Ah.”

She shivered again, wrapping the cloak tighter around her tiny frame and he cast a simple spell to pull heat from the earth as he joined her on the boulders overlooking the shadowy valley below. Her ears wiggled in immediate appreciation and she offered him a warm smile in thanks.

“Has it always been like this? Your eyes?” Her features, he noted, were different in the moonlight: showing more of the variances in her complexion that wasn’t just white. Her vallaslin stood out, inky in the night, and her eyes were darker too, they seemed larger if that were possible. They still looked sad.

She nodded. “Always. It was easier once my magic manifested, and I learned to bend the light so I could see better. I barely notice it anymore, but it’s draining sometimes. I like the night; the dark is soothing.”

“That certainly explains why your movements are so controlled.” he chuckled, casting her a thoughtful glance.

“Is my magic so different to that taught in the Circles?”

“Infinitely more practical I think, but the Dalish shy away from magic almost as much as the Chantry. Your magic is defensive, centered on prevention rather than retaliation.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“Did I say that?” he laughed, and he had to admire her courage when they were alone. It hadn’t been a question, but a challenge. “In my experience, it rarely pays to neglect one over the other. Your indomitable focus is an enjoyable side benefit, however.”

She opened her mouth to reply but stopped, distracted. “Indomitable focus?”

“Presumably,” Solas raised an eyebrow, eyes dropping momentarily to her lips. “I have yet to see it dominated. I imagine the sight would be… fascinating.”

Ilynwe held his gaze for a few moments, trying to ignore the heat that flooded her cheeks before she lowered her eyes. When she looked up at him again he was smirking.

“Then would you teach me, hahren?”

Perhaps he’d misjudged her.


	2. Learn Me Right

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Electricity is in the air.

“You still hold on too tight, da’len.”

Ilynwe directed a bolt of lightning at the boulder. The moisture in the air crackled and sizzled around it and the rock was left singed and blackened, a burning smell permeating the clearing. Her shoulders slumped and she turned to face him, blowing a strand of hair out of her face in, dare he say it, annoyance. Her staff had long since been cast aside: they’d decided it wasn’t helping her to loosen up. She needed to let go.

“You needn’t shape it with such force, it wastes energy,” Solas continued, playing with a crackling orb in his own palm. Her brow furrowed and the ball flared as she raised an inquisitive hand, poking at the fade around the spell. “Trust your instincts, don’t hold it every step of the way.”

Nodding her understanding, she visibly gathered herself up again - though they’d been working for over an hour she had remarkable resilience, even though she had to be getting tired. Solas secretly hoped the fatigue would let her slip. As soon as she felt it, he was certain she’d pick it up quickly. She was a quick study, if she could just grasp the feeling. Ilynwe paused, looking back at him.

“What if I miss?”

“Who are you going to endanger out here?” he replied, not unkindly. She was trying to unlearn a lifetime’s worth of restrictive habits, not born without cause. The first step was the hardest. But every time she released a spell he could feel far more energy contained than she released. If only she could harness it and not shackle it.

Her mouth set in a hard line, and she nodded, determined. Facing the large rock again, the Dalish mage squared her shoulders, and he could feel her pull on the magic. She was still holding it like a squirming kitten, determined to maintain control.

“Relax.”

She rolled her shoulders again and softened her back. He smiled; they both knew physically relaxing had very little to do with how a spell was cast and controlled, but it was the mentality of it all. The magic swelled, and he could almost smell it in the air, crisp, sharp like ozone, then it fell again and she dropped her arms. He stepped forward, looking over her shoulder to the target.

“Breathe, da’len,” he reminded her, and she jumped a little in surprise at his proximity to her ear. A long breath escaped her, a sigh. She actually glared the boulder, scrunching her nose up as though she could somehow will it to conduct the current directly to it. Almost like she was worried it might move.

A small smile quirked his lips. “Close your eyes.”

“What?" She turned sharply to him, nearly running into his chest as lightning danced off her fingertips. Her cheeks flushed.

“Trust me, lethallan,” he said, and she shivered. “Close your eyes.”

Ily eyed him like he might be mad for a second, but hesitantly she followed his suggestion, turning again to face the boulder. “What now?”

“Cast your spell, you aren’t going to hurt us.”

Ilynwe was still dubious about that fact, but summoned the spell anyway. Where was she aiming? What if she hit something? He was right though, with him standing so close, she wouldn’t hit them at least. Probably. Focusing, she again lifted her hands, in what she hoped was the right direction and pulled on the magic. Let it go, Solas had said. Easier said than done.

“When you are ready, Lethallan,” he said, voice suddenly beside her ear again.

There was a deafening crack of thunder overhead, the spell let go in surprise. She felt it crackle, sheet and the electricity danced across her skin. She couldn’t see it, but she felt it. She blinked in surprise, finding the clearing still humming with energy and a blackened rift where the boulder had stood, split in two.

Solas cocked his head, eyeing the damage with a critical eye and a smile. “Impressive.”

Ilynwe rubbed at her ears, still ringing from the noise. She was out of control, she’d promised herself she wouldn’t lose control again, and yet here they were.

“That was reckless, dangerous, I shouldn’t-”

She nearly turned into his chest again and her blush deepened. He caught her arm, and lingering static electricity sparked where his fingers brushed her skin. Solas seemed unconcerned. In fact, he looked rather pleased. “Is that not the idea, lethallan?”

“I-” He held her gaze, perhaps studying her, perhaps... She stilled, he had not moved, his hand still on her arm as she was certain her face had darkened by at least ten shades. This was silly, this was foolish this was-

“You two alright?”

Cassandra and Bull came marching into the little clearing and Ily jumped back in surprise, nearly falling over yet another stray rock. Were it possible to ascend her body and become the miserable weather, she would have as her whole face felt as though it was on fire.

“Perfectly fine, thank you Cassandra,” replied Solas, and Ily nodded in agreement, perhaps a little too enthusiastically.

Quietly and not for the first time in her life, she cursed her skin for giving so much away. She was not some blushing child. Cassandra gave them both another once over, an eyebrow raised and lingering on the little Dalish mage.

“We’ve salvaged what we can for the camp, such as it is. We’d best get back, in case any bandits come looking.”

Ily nodded again, and trailed after Solas as Cassandra and Bull led the way. At least the chill quickly helped to chase the colour from her cheeks.

“Are you well, lethallan?”

“Mmm,” she hummed, looking up to meet his concerned gaze and nearly tripping over a rock she hadn’t seen properly. Solas caught her by the arm again before she stumbled and the blush returned as she set her eyes steadfast on the uneven path in front of them.

“How did you know closing my eyes would help?” she asked, curious. They certainly weren’t helping now.

“Your eyes,” he said, turning the phrase over on his tongue. Her gaze flickered to him for a moment before turning to the ground again. She was blushing again. This had to stop. “You said you use magic to refract light? You don’t trust your eyes, too afraid of losing focus. You don’t need them.”

“How am I supposed to aim?” Or walk. Or remain upright.

Solas smiled. “Feel it, trust your instincts. They are good ones. You allow your fear to control you, and so you can never truly be in control,”

“Caution isn’t fear,” Ily replied with a slight frown. He helped pull her up a rocky rise, hand warm around hers, and met her eyes again.

“Is it not?”

 

The camp was as meagre as Cassandra had made it out to be. With minimal provisions at best, everything from food to equipment was in short supply. The handful of rather miserable looking soldiers were more than happy to see their two mages return to set wards to keep out the drizzle and actually set fire to damp wood. With rations and game cooking into what might actually be a promising meal, the next obvious problem arose.

“Well, we must make do with what we have,” said Cassandra, resting a hand on her hip. “The Herald can take the largest tent.”

“I’m not going to fit into the smaller one, Seeker. I’ll knock it over trying to get through the door.” Bull shook his head, nearly causing injury to a passing soldier as if to prove his point.

Cassandra snorted. “Well _you_ can’t share with the Herald, you’ll crush her with a stray arm. I will share the smaller tent with her then.”

Bull raised an eyebrow. “You sure that’s a good idea?”

Cassandra narrowed her eyes. “What are you insinuating?”

He threw up his hands, both a peace gesture and as self defence. “You think I’ll crush her? We’ve uh, seen you in the mornings. Better you share with me, at least you won’t leave any lasting damage on her, or Solas - no offense.”

Solas shrugged. “None taken.” He had no real desire to brave the Seeker’s ire in the mornings.

Catching Cassandra’s venomous glare Bull backpedaled quickly. “Well, not as _much_ damage anyway.”

“Would you like to see a demonstration?” she demanded taking a step in his direction. “I am _not_ -”

Before she could finish, Solas interjected. “I will share with the Herald then.”

“That would be grossly improper,” Cassandra sniffed, drawing herself up to her full height and rounding on him instead.

Bull looked offended “So it’s improper when _he_ shares with her but you’re more worried about me squishing her?”

“I don’t mind,” a quiet voice interrupted.

The three of them turned to look at her as though they’d forgotten the little mage was standing there. Her gaze swept the three of them levelly. “I’ll share with Solas.”

“If… you are sure,” offered Cassandra, and Bull huffed at how quickly she’d back down for her.

Ily smiled in reply. The matter was settled.

It didn’t take long for the soldiers to start retreating into tents once the firewood began to dwindle, trying to salvage what warmth they could. Being dry was a lost cause. The Seeker hadn't been lying in saying the tent was small, probably originally suited to keeping the moisture off equipment. The roof was low, and Solas tried not to look too hard as the little mage leaned over to clamber inside. The space was even more cramped once they were both inside, no room to stand, and in the dark they bumped into one another before settling on the bedrolls. By some mercy, those at least were not damp.

The low light wasn’t a real problem for either of them, and she saw possibly better even than him, so instead be breathed light into his palm, summoning a small ball of flame before lifting it to hover above them. At least the rain meant they were unlikely to set the tent on fire. The light allowed him to make out her features better, as she sat crosslegged running a strand of unravelling hair through her fingers. The roof was too low for him to do so, so he simply laid back against the make-shift pillow.

“I suppose there are worse places to sleep,” he remarked, raising a hand to manipulate the flame above them, making tiny shapes. “Ruined temples have often long since lost their roofs.”

Ily sat a little straighter, leaning forward. “You fell asleep in ancient ruins?”

“Did you never visit any in your youth?” he turned to look at her, raising an inquisitive eyebrow.

“Not alone. Isn’t that dangerous?” she asked, shaking her head.

Solas chuckled. “I did set wards, and so long as I left out food for the giant spiders, they seemed content to live and let live.”

Her eyes widened fractionally and her mouth formed a tiny o.

“That must have been terribly exciting.” She almost sounded wistful.

“Have you never been curious?” he inquired.

She shook her head. “No. It was too dangerous, too…”

Solas finished for her. “Reckless?”

She smiled quietly, dropping her gaze to her lap for a few moments. They lapsed into silence, and Solas closed his eyes, thinking she was finished. It was hard to tell with the Dalish mage.

“What is it like?” Ily asked finally.

“You dream don’t you?” he replied, propping himself up on his elbow. She was leaning forward again, the firelight dancing on her skin, turning her hair to gold.

“Everyone dreams,” she said. “Well, except the dwarves....”

“It is not without it’s risks,” he agreed, slitting up and leaning forward to fit under the low hanging roof.. “But then few things are. But the chance to experience a memory that no living being has ever seen? I would not trade that for anything.”

She rested her chin upon her palms, enraptured. Finding himself with a captive audience, Solas couldn’t help himself, or perhaps it was just because it was her. So eager to listen to story upon story that dragged on into the night.

“Is it hard?” Ily asked finally, having moved perceptibly closer while he spoke. She’d successfully unwound her hair -far longer than he’d realised- and it now cloaked her and pooled around her ankles.“To learn?”

“There is no more talent involved than what any one person wishes of the fade. Anyone who can dream and achieve lucidity could eventually train themselves to do so, however being a mage certainly helps. The mind is a muscle like any other, and it needs to be exercised for it to be fully realised. To shape the fade to one’s whims requires power, practice, but nothing that cannot be learned,” He leaned back a little on his ankles, noticing that he too had been leaning closer. “Magic, unlike muscle, cannot atrophy, but it relies on the caster’s resolve and will to release it.”

“The mind is a conduit. Your greatest challenge, unlike so many, will not be in harnessing that power but unshackling it.”

“Would you two keep it down?” came Cassandra’s disgruntled voice from the next tent over. Bull’s voice chimed in a second later.

“How are you still talking? Haven’t you run out of topics yet?”

Ily and Solas exchanged guilty looks. There were more muffled mutterings, caught by sensitive tapered ears that sounded like ‘These arrangements were definitely a bad idea’. A deeper voice growled in agreement, making a few crude suggestions about what other things they could have been doing, and all of them would have been better than this - at least it would have been quicker.

The blush that had plagued her earlier returned with a vengeance, and she dropped her eyes to her lap, playing with her hands while her hair did a good job of obscuring her face, though her ears did wiggle just a little. She let out a soft breath.

“We should probably sleep.”

“Probably,” he agreed, smiling to himself. He called the small ball of flame back to his palm and blew it out with a breath. It took a few seconds for their eyes to adjust to the change, and Ily rolled over, snuggling into the blankets. Solas eyed her for a moment longer before turning over too. He shifted on the bed roll, settling for a second before rolling back over. He really shouldn’t, he was already breaking too many rules with her. But her enthusiasm was infectious, and scretly he wanted to see her face light up again.

“Would you like to?” he murmured into the dark.

“What?” It came out more like a squeak as she rolled over in a flurry of blankets, and if it were bodily possible, her blush deepened even in the darkness. They were elves, and it didn’t go unnoticed

He paused, and Ily thought she saw his ear tips flush as he cleared his throat. “Walking the fade, would you like to try?”

Her expression brightened immediately, pink cheeks or no. Her ears went straight up, and a broad smile spread across her face while her voice went up in volume.“Could I?”

“Well, that may be up to you,” he replied, smiling back. “I am unsure whether your unconscious mind would be receptive enough yet, I cannot force it if you were unwilling. It would quickly become apparent if it were not. You’ll need to sleep naturally, we’ll have a better chance if your mind is relaxed.”

Her smile widened. “Can we?”

“I WISH YOU WOULD.”

Cassandra’s voice sounded loud and clear enough to make them both jump, and was joined by mutters of agreement from nearby tents.

“Apologies, Seeker,” he called, as Ily clapped a hand over her mouth to muffle her laughter. Solas was almost disappointed, he hadn’t yet heard her laugh. Not once.

Cassandra gave a short reply. “GO TO SLEEP.”

“ _Vashedan_.”

Ily was still shaking quietly with silent laughter, and he dropped his voice to a whisper, catching her eyes in the dark. “Open your mind, lethallan, let go. Relax. Breathe. We will see whether this works soon enough.”

It took her a long time to drift off, though perhaps he was just impatient. He’d learned long ago how to shift into the trance required, but she was barely beginning. When finally her breathing slowed to a rhythmic rise and fall of her chest, and the faint tension in her brows softened, he let out a deep breath, and closed his eyes.

Finding her in the fade was easy, with how close they were, but unsurprisingly her mind was closed to him, and anything else. All that power, contained in one neat space. It was interesting though, outside looking in, her presence so obvious he might have noticed her from miles away. Brilliant, bright, blinding, so unlike herself in the real world where she seemed intent on fading into the background. Perhaps he simply wasn’t paying enough attention. He left her then, wandering but restless, and he was unable to focus truly on any one memory that night.

Solas woke just before the dawn, unsurprisingly to the sound of rain on canvas. The temperature had dropped overnight, and he should have had the forethought to cast a spell to warm the air for them. He wasn’t cold though. He opened his eyes to find her face inches from his, some of her hair having spilled across the space between them, soft against his cheek.

Solas let out a slow breath not wanting to wake her, blinking several times to ensure he was indeed fully awake and found no mistake. They must have gravitated towards the centre of the small space as it got cooler, seeking warmth. His gaze lingered on the soft smattering of freckles across her cheeks, soft eyelashes and her lips slightly ajar. She looked peaceful. One tiny hand was clutched under her chin while the other was balled in the blankets around his hip. Gently, he extricated her fingers and shuffled back towards his side of the tent. Solas rolled over with a huff and wrapped the blankets around him, doing his best to ignore the smell of her perfume and feign sleep until the rest of the camp stirred. 


	3. White Snow Burning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haven falls, a hero rises.

“I have a plan.” Her hair was beginning to unravel from her intricate bun, and snow swirled around the party in great flurries. Cassandra shouted something that might have been agreement, raising an arm against the barrage driven down by the dragon’s wings. Still Solas hesitated.

“You all need to go! Now!”

It wasn’t a suggestion. Cassandra grabbed him by the scruff of his coat and dragged him bodily backwards as one of the watch towers collapsed before them, narrowly missing the place where they’d stood not moments before. The ground shook as the dragon landed heavily, screeching high and long. The young Dalish mage was nowhere to be seen.

“What are you doing?” he demanded, rounding on the Seeker. “We have to help her!”

“We need to get out of the valley,” she replied, brows knitting together in a severe line. “Or we’ll be no help to her at all.”

He looked back at the burning village, torn between blasting his way through the debris and following the Seeker’s lead. The dragon roared again, its thrashing tail visible above the burning wood and smashed stone. It would kill her.

“Come on!” Cassandra called out again, her hand on his arm. Not demanding, gentle. With one last agonising look, he allowed himself to be drawn away, dashing after the qunari mercenary and the human warrior into the night.

They made immediately for the higher ground at the edges of the valley, knowing just what the little elf intended to do. He again swore under his breath, glancing back through the smoke and ash to try and catch a glimpse of her. The trebuchet was still standing at least, still pulled taught. Beyond that, he could only see the flames burning on melting snow. Haven was lost, and with it the orb’s power. If not yet, it soon would be.

Cassandra offered him a hand from her perch on the cliffs, helping him and Bull scramble over the edge. Higher. They had to get higher. Minutes ticked by, and still the dragon had not left, nor did they have any indication of what might be transpiring beneath them. A lone arrow was fired into the night, set alight, a beacon that meant the refugees were safe. Cullen was a man of his word, not that Solas had ever doubted the Commander’s resolve. All that remained was…

A louder roar resonated from the battlements, echoing off the granite walls as the woody creak of the trebuchet snapped and there was a quiet woosh. They didn’t see the stone fly, but they heard the distant impact on the mountain, and the rumbling didn’t stop. The trebuchet had hit true. The winds parted the cloud of smoke that hung over the valley long enough for them to see the dragon scream one final time, before taking to the sky as the oncoming avalanche bore down on it. Then everything was white.

He was the first back down the sides of the valley, reckless considering any movement might set off another flow, but it would do little to stop him from stepping lightly over the powder snow while the Seeker and her qunari waded through up to their waists. Surely, the young mage would have cast wards… she was an ice mage, it was her element, she would have protected herself… somehow. She’d have left a sign.

Cassandra called out, her voice being torn away by the persistent wind that had begun to pick up, but no one answered. Bull joined her, and even Solas cried out in desperation. The only reply was silence.

“Over here!”

Cassandra was over one of the rises that uncomfortably might have once been a house, looking at the splintered remains of the trebuchet peeking out above the snow. Immediately, Solas pulled at the edges of the fade and began - gently - heaving great drifts of snow aside, pushing shoving in the hopes of finding a reaching hand. They’d only been a short while, if they could just find her…

The minutes ticked by, with Bull searching around the rest of the area, and Cassandra’s voice becoming a monotonous hum in the background. There was no sign of her. Solas grunted in effort as he shifted another heap of ice, dumping the snow aside with a tired huff. His hands were shaking, but that was probably the cold seeping into his leggings. His knees gave out under him, and he fell. Again, he felt a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Enough, Solas,” murmured Cassandra, voice uncharacteristically soft. “She isn’t here.”

“Maybe she got away?” suggested Bull, standing on the edge of the rise and raising a hand to look across the now unmoving landscape. “Hiding somewhere else?”

“We won’t find her tonight,” Cassandra said, shaking her head at Solas. “We need to get back to the others, organise a proper search party.”

“If we leave her now, she’ll die.” Despite his best efforts, his voice cracked a little on the last.

They looked at him and it was the truth none of them had wanted to acknowledge.

“I’m not happy about it either, but we’ll all freeze if we stay here. You can barely walk. We’re no help to her here,” and even as she said it, there was a slight waver in her voice. Cassandra was no happier about this than he, but they were out of options.

“I need to find somewhere I can rest, perhaps I can find reach her if she still lives.”

“Pray to the Maker that she does,” murmured the Seeker, helping to heave him onto his feet. Though he leaned heavily on his staff, he could walk. And she was right about the cold, he could not chase the chill from his feet in the ice without melting it.

The trip back up to the pass was a miserable one, with conditions deteriorating rapidly as the mountain weather closed in. The wind tugged at them as they balanced precariously on the edge of a narrow path that seemed to barely brush the mountainside, and ice and sleet hammered at Solas’s wards. Breaching the summit and looking down at the valley below and the faint glow of torches was a relief, until they realised they had to traipse down the other side.

They were all but frozen when they finally dragged themselves into the camp, and were immediately taken hostage by the healers while Cullen pestered them with questions. Where was the Herald? None of them had answers, and people’s faces fell as the news spread.

Mana depleted and thoroughly exhausted, Solas tried to relax, to settle himself into a trance so he might search the fade. If Ilynwe was merely unconscious, wherever she was, there might still be time… The drone of voices, the shuffle of feet, the slap of iron as tents were erected, the noise was endless. He wrestled his focus back, as his eyes drooped, now was not a time for weakness. They had to find her. He had to find her.

The fade wrapped him in a familiar blanket, and he ignored the immediate distractions, the spirits and demons still clamouring around the healed rent in the sky. He’d never had to locate her, and her mind had remained closed to him the few times they’d attempted to coax her into the fade. He wouldn’t be able to reach her now either, his only hope was to remember her, the brilliant spark that signalled her mind and pray it hadn’t dimmed. That it hadn’t been extinguished altogether. Seeking her in the fade would be difficult, but not impossible if she were asleep. He set off, with purpose, sharpening his will to a honed point with only an image of her and the sound of her laugh on his mind. Nothing else existed in that moment but her.

Hours he could have searched. Days, weeks, time meant little there. He found nothing, nor did any of the spirits he implored for guidance have anything to offer. She was either still awake, or… He rose to consciousness, unable to sustain the dream. The world faded to black, and then light flooded in.

He woke with a splitting headache, sore and shivering with a chantry mother standing over him with a concerned expression. He grimaced and waved her off, he would be fine. The camp moved about him, people huddling around fires and clutching at the meagre blankets.

“Where is Seeker Cassandra,” he asked the nearest Mother, who tutted over him sitting up and tried to get him to lie back down on the makeshift cot. He wrinkled his nose but didn’t voice his displeasure. “I must speak with her.”

“She and Commander Cullen left some time ago on a rescue mission for the Herald,” the Mother replied, feeling his forehead as though he had a fever. He might, but it didn’t matter for the moment.

“How long have I been unconscious?” he asked, voice rising above the wind. The blizzard that had been closing in raged above the sheltered valley, obscuring any chance of discerning the time from the sky.

“Half a day or so, you were near frostbitten when you came in. The mages had to make some quick repairs on your toes. Why weren’t you wearing shoes?”

He almost ignored the question in favour of panic. Half a day. That was too long. And if Cassandra had left without him to go and find the Herald, then she was still missing. Any chance of finding her alive, in this weather, was growing slimmer by the minute. Lying back on the cot, he steadied his mind again and prepared to enter the fade again against his better judgement. If she fell unconscious, for whatever reason, he’d be able to find her. She must still be awake, possibly trapped somewhere. Cassandra and Cullen wouldn’t find her if she was buried somewhere, or lost in the storm. His only hope was to find her first.

Even beyond the veil the blizzard raged, a reflection of reality that tugged at his concentration. He cast his net further, trying to locate any sign that would indicate her consciousness. This sort of aimless search was taxing, more taxing than his usual travels and his desperate attempts to even locate her subconscious mind were a greater strain still. Eventually something would have to give: either he would be pulled into uthenera or she would appear. Or she would die.

A light flared among the hazy landscape and immediately he strode towards it, descending upon the mountain pass overhead. He had the briefest vision of the young elf falling to her knees, and the light from the campfires casting deep shadows across her pallid skin. There was shouting. Familiar voices. They’d found her. Solas almost withdrew, not needing to gain entry to her unconscious mind, but the flaring light that had shown up like a beacon as she’d entered the fade twisted and turned in on itself, a black gaping void. Her mind tugged him in, tendrils trapping him, snaking around him, crushing him. He was not strong enough to resist. He fell into the blackness with her.

_Cold. White. Snow. Burning._

_A young elven child ran through a forest, tripping over unseen roots, whimpering as reaching branches snagged her pale hair and scratched her ruddy cheeks. Silent tears could have done nothing to help her see the way, but she held her hands out as if to feel her way rather than rely on her eyes._

_Something was chasing her._

_A rumble filled the air, a low growl that grew until he could hear nothing else. The veil there was thin, and thrummed in time with the wolves’ song. Beside her he saw them running, paws sure and unwavering in their step, jaws strong and teeth sharp with dark eyes. They were chasing her. He was chasing her._

_The elf girl turned back occasionally, which did nothing to help her on her way. They were getting closer. They could smell her, taste her fear. She should not have wandered off from camp, if she’d even meant to at all. The wolves had her cornered, snarling and snapping at her heels as she fell to her knees, clamping her hands over her ears to shut out the whines and yelps. She didn’t fight back, she didn’t try to run and the pack circled closer. He could feel their bloodlust singing in his chest, in his ears, until there was nothing else even as he watched on._

_They were going to kill her. He was going to kill her._

_Her tears were streaming down her cheeks, freezing as they fell from her chin and forming beads of ice in the air. Her breath misted and clouded as she took gasping, shuddering breaths. Around them the air continued to vibrate, humming and warping until it rattled in his very bones. He got closer, closer, the end was near. He licked his lips, and the end of his snout was almost level with her face when she looked up at him. Briefly, he saw himself reflected in her eyes: blue, pale almost violet and unseeing. In them stood a wolf, as dark as ash with six red eyes._

_The piercing screech of renting ice tore at his ears, and everything stood still, bathed in blinding white. Cold; biting, burning cold seared his flesh, his soul. The wolves around him screamed. The last thing he saw was the little elven girl with the broken eyes staring down at him, wreathed in white veilfire and frozen tears still staining her tears. Then he shattered and there was nothing._

_This was what death felt like._

Solas woke with a strangled gasp like a man held underwater for too long, drowning in icy water. The Chantry mothers were hovering over him, as were a number of mages, but he swatted them away with muttered words and trembling hands. His head was throbbing, as though someone had clobbered him with an enormous rock. He even lifted a tentative hand to check no such thing had occurred, and was unsurprised to find nothing. His skin was cold, clammy and slicked in sweat. His search for the dalish mage had been reckless, he’d gotten too close. Still…

The fear her mind had conjured held him in a vice, and he forced himself to take steadying breaths. A nightmare of some sort, invoked as the last of her strength failed her, perhaps aided by the howls of wolves and the blizzard. It was done, and she would be there in camp soon enough.

He tutted and fended off the worried mothers and their kin, forcing himself to stand, ignoring the tremble in his muscles. What was taking them so long? She’d somehow managed to stagged to the mouth of the mountain pass before losing consciousness, they should have been back by now. He paced an anxious line around the camp, avoiding contact with the rest of the refugees. Finally after what seemed like an age, there was torchlight on the horizon and a tired clump of soldiers appeared against the snow. There were shouts, and quickly more went over to help. The search party stepped into the light, led by the Seeker looking weary but steadfast as ever, followed by the looming figure of the commander, who had shed his coat despite the cold. Instead, it was wrapped tenderly around a tiny figure held in his arms. Solas’s brow creased as he watched on from his vantage point beside the infirmary, leaning against his staff as he watched the procession pass. The tiniest puff of breath was the only indication she was alive at all.

It took all of his strength not to immediately go to her, to heal her himself. His reserves were well and truly spent from searching the fade, from escaping her dream. She could well have trapped him there, so strong was her mind. Considering that she must have been walking for almost a whole day, it was… surprising. He watched as the mages fussed over her, warming the air in an attempt to wake her and unfreeze her tiny limbs. She was just so fragile… yet again she would not die. It was an admirable trait, if any were to be had.

In the background, the Inquisition’s leaders bickered, their voices rising in volume until they were impossible to ignore. The conversation had quickly turned heated, and slowly the refugees retreated, to escape the collective ire of the quartet. Even some of the soldiers were beginning to look uncomfortable. It was the aftermath of days of stress, exhaustion and too little sleep in the face of almost total defeat.

A glance back at the Dalish mage’s prone form showed no change, and he huffed to himself, growing impatient. His mind screamed for rest, true rest, to recover from the beating he’d subjected it to, but he could not risk missing her waking. What if she took a turn for the worse? The mark had not flared since she’d arrived, not since she’d closed the breach but she was mortal, how long could it remain stable without it consuming her? None of the other mages there would know how to help, he couldn’t walk away until she was waking.

It turned out that meant hours, some of which were spent being bothered by the Chantry and other employs of the Inquisition, still insisting he recover, even the gentle mannered Antivan tried her hand but he was having none of it. Her eyelids fluttered, and her breathing increased and he felt his posture slump, the tension he hadn’t known he’d been holding released. There was a tiny part of him that had watched, as she fought against the foci’s power as she slept, as she dreamed after the breach, as she lay prone on the cot, a tiny part of him that thought she might never wake. He chose to ignore that the thought scared him now more than it had in Haven.

He slipped away again as she regained consciousness, surreptitiously finding one of the elixirs in the supply crates. It was a cheap energy hit, and would bar him from the fade when it drove him to sleep, but it was what he needed. He only needed to remain awake enough to debrief the little elven mage. He couldn’t rightfully lie to her about the orb’s existence, and he had no idea how much the Magister might have told her. Better to tell the truth - some of it anyway.

His impatience began to tug at him again, as the camp came together in song. Watching the dalish mage was almost amusing enough, looking stunningly uncomfortable at the attention, the attention of worshippers. How strange, to watch humans bow before a Dalish elf. He never thought he’d see the day, not in this world, but here they were. He moved quietly around her before someone else could steal her away, calling her away with a gentle brush of of her arm.

“Ma serranas,” she murmured in relief as she followed close behind him as he wove through the tentrows. He could only chuckle in response as he moved around a barrel, cut abruptly short by the sudden impulse to take her hand as her fingers momentarily brushed his. She only murmured an apology, and he walked a little further in front, taking them to the edges of camp where they would not be so easily overheard by prying ears.

He sidled over to a burnt out torch, waving a hand languidly as he watched the flame burst into light, the spell casting a soft violet glow. He’d unconsciously mirrored the colour of her eyes. This was beginning to get out of hand, and his brow creased only briefly as he turned the words over on his tongue. She came to stand beside him, watching him with curious eyes, so full of questions. Eyes that made him nervous, that saw too much.

“No elf has been so respected by humans in centuries, lethallan,” he murmured, considering how best to approach the topic. If he didn’t she would. “It is a proud moment.”

A small smile tugged at her lips, and she looked away at his praise like she always did. He paused momentarily, watching the firelight wash over her skin. “However, the orb Corypheus carried, it is ours.”

“Ours?”

“It is elven. There are tales of such things, foci, that were used by the gods of our pantheon. There is little lore on the subject, only half formed stories and fractured memories, the remnants of a lost empire.”

She was looking at him again, and he once again chose his words very carefully. “Regardless of how Corypheus managed to acquire it, unlocking it must have caused the explosion. We must discover how he survived, and retrieve the orb if possible. We must remain above suspicion for when the humans discover the orb’s origin if we are to recover it.”

“Humans always find a way to blame us,” she said quietly, stretching out an arm to touch the magical flame. She ran her fingers through it, as though it were silk or water. “Eventually.”

“Their faith in you will shape this moment,” He’d been a part of change before, the moment where the world hung on a knife’s edge, the old order ready to be torn anew. He knew what it felt like. “If you would let it grow.”

No indication that she remembered the nightmare, or that she’d felt his presence there at least. He regarded her seriously for a few more moments, and she weathered his gaze for only a moment before looking away, rubbing her arm against the cold. She remained a mystery.

“I am pleased you returned, lethallan.” What she’d done was reckless, and had he known he would have tried to stop her. He hadn’t thought the little keeper had it in her, she seemed so cautious otherwise. The more he learned about her, the more fascinating she seemed. He wanted to unravel her, he wanted not to care, but he was already lost.

She smiled quietly and dropped her gaze before returning it. “Of course, da’len. Always.”


	4. In Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She was different in the fade - brighter, bolder. More reckless.

In the end, he almost regretted showing her Skyhold.

It was a selfish notion, a tiny part of himself that he refused to give voice to. But she was the Inquisitor now, leader of a religious military force growing larger by the day. Her attention seemed to be stretched thin by new duties, and though she certainly didn’t look like she enjoyed it, it still stung. A small, tiny, very selfish part of him wished she could have remained in the background. With him. They’d spoken only sparingly and he’d have been lying if he said he hadn’t grown accustomed to their little talks. She was clever, engaging, eager to learn, and even challenged him on occasion. He thought that had angered him at the time, but now he missed it. He missed her smiles too, her quiet laugh, even if she didn’t offer them freely. They had to be earned.

As if to add insult to injury, they’d given him work as well. Solas supposed he deserved that: he had offered them his help after all. Sighing heavily, he lifted one of the scrawled sets of notes from his desk. He’d tried to make the assigned room as much his as possible - and unlike the Dalish, he was perfectly at home surrounded by four walls - or one large curved one. Nevertheless, the constant chatter and foot traffic was distracting at the best of times, even if it did provide occasional reprieve from the monotony of cataloguing herbs and tinctures that he could have literally done in his sleep. Even the promise of research on the Inquisition’s discoveries offered him little entertainment: he knew exactly what the mysterious ‘shards’ were, and the conduits scattered across Thedas. There was nothing new for him, or perhaps his mind was just restless in this place.

As if to prove his point, his ears pricked at the sound of a familiar quiet voice floating over the bannister from above, drawing his attention immediately, followed by the unmistakably pompous accent of Tevinter mage. Involuntarily, he wrinkled his nose in distaste, stabbing the quill into the inkwell perhaps a little more aggressively than necessary. The conversation was short - most conversations with Ilynwe were unless you got her talking. He took quiet victory in the fact that he’d not seen her speaking at length with anyone else since their arrival, save perhaps Cassandra.

The voices ceased, and he caught a glimpse of pale hair disappearing down the staircase. He filled the nib with ink again, perhaps sitting a little straighter in his chair. The Dalish mage rounded the corner looking stressed and even irritated, though that may have been amplified by the dark circles under her eyes .

“Lethallan,” he murmured, watching her peer around the room as if looking for someone. Deciding the coast was relatively clear, she crept out from the alcove like a timid animal to drink. “Is someone hunting you?”

“Everyone,” she replied, casting another harried look around the room as if attendants and missives might suddenly spring from behind the couch. Deciding she was safe -for the moment- she leant against the heavy wooden desk with an audible huff, slumping her shoulders in defeat. She offered him the ghost of a smile as he lay down his quill. “Except you.”

Solas smiled quietly in response, watching the blue light from the veilfire play off her skin. “And what did our pet magister want from you?”

She examined one of the odd looking stones on his desk with a hard smile, deliberately avoiding his gaze. He couldn’t decide whether she looked quietly annoyed or pleased with herself. Perhaps a little of both. “He wished to know why we kept no early Tevinter texts in the library.”

“Ah,” said Solas, studying her and leaning back a fraction. Oh how he wished he could have watched the conversation unfold for himself. She was angry then, if this was what her anger looked like. “Why don’t we keep any early Tevine manuscripts in the library.”

“I suggested he ask his servants.” Ilynwe smiled again, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Still she didn’t look at him, instead trailing a finger over the shard’s glowing surface. A faint thrum of light followed her touch.

He chuckled to himself, and even she looked quietly pleased, the smirk escaping the corner of her lips. He hadn’t known she had it in her, though perhaps he should have. “Would it help if I demand your assistance for an afternoon?”

She sighed heavily and shook her head. “Ma serranas, no. Josephine needs me for… something. We’re setting out west in a few day’s time.”

That alone brightened his mood considerably. He mightn’t have grown up wandering open plains, but already the fortress was beginning to feel oppressive. He’d spent too much time on his own.

She paused, tapping her fingernails against the edge of his ink bottle. “If you can tear yourself away from your paperwork.”

He raised an eyebrow and her eyes fluttered up to meet his briefly. He was sure he saw a spark of something there, but then it was gone away, leaving him with only a memory and the faintest rise in heartbeat. His face though remained otherwise impassive. “Was that _sarcasm_ , da’len?”

“Merely fatigue, hahren.”

He watched her go, still smiling to himself as he caught the parting glance over her shoulder before she could scurry away. It even remained throughout the afternoon, and no amount of idle chatter from the hall or incessant squawking of ravens could remove it. Finally, Solas eyed the last of the parchments dryly, glad to see the end of them. The promise of action, of freedom, of travel was more than welcome, a necessary respite. These tasks were certainly not what he’d had in mind when he’d joined the Inquisition. Snuffing out the candle and the veilfire lamp with an idle wave, he made quick and quiet steps up to his quarters on the opposite side of the main hall, relieved at once to have peace and quiet. He’d never liked ravens, they were too clever. The fade enveloped him, and he let it take him away from the monotony of reality.

Immediately something caught his attention, a persistent tugging that reached out, wrapping around him. Familiar. He was not mentally and physically exhausted this time, easily able to resist though the tendrils of consciousness were persistent. Ilynwe had perhaps, in her own exhaustion, been too tired to maintain her usual steely mental barrier that separated her from the fade, and he reached back, allowing himself to be taken with her willingly.

It was far different than when he’d been sucked into her mind the last time. Around them, the forest sparkled in dappled sunlight, reflecting off a nearby spring that bubbled from the earth. Quiet birdsong sounded in the trees, and he watched her ears work back and forth, tracking it. Ily seemed surprised to see him there, dressed in a draping robe he didn’t think he’d ever seen her in before. It didn’t look Dalish, but he was more distracted by the plunging neckline that went nearly to her navel. Her confusion quickly seemed to dissipate however, and she broke into a wide smile.

“Fancy seeing you here, hahren.”

“Were you expecting someone else, lethallan?” he asked, and she smiled to herself, shaking her head in reply. She looked down for only a moment, before meeting his eyes again. Here in the sunlight, she didn’t squint like she usually did, the light couldn’t hurt her in her memories.

Hopping up from her perch on the rock, she set off into the sunlight and he followed. The transformation between her physical form and that which her spirit took her were striking. He’d seen it previously on that snow filled night, but this was more subtle than simple white light, though it was no less noticeable. Her feet were placed unerringly, and here she had an inner grace and surety that she would not falter, her eyes would not fail and her movements could almost be called lyrical.

“Where are we?” Solas asked, pausing in the centre of the glade. She turned to face him, her hair backlit silver and gold curling around her like a veil.

“I used to come here as a child,” she said. “Our clan would often camp nearby when we were in the area because of the fresh water. The shemlen don’t know about it, we keep it secret.”

She smirked tapped the swirling lines of the raven’s wings lining her cheeks knowingly before moving off in the direction of the spring. Solas smiled back and followed, struck with the sudden desire to trace the lines marking her face, connecting the faintest smattering of freckles that patterned her cheeks, and just as quickly dismissed it.

“I could never play in the sunlight, like the others, but I wanted to,” Ily continued, trailing a hand along a moss covered rock, collecting the faintest precipitation on her fingertips. “I always loved coming here. This place is old.”

Though he had no way of sensing that for himself, he could detect echoes of it from her memory. He hummed in agreement, tilting his head back to breathe in the smells of the clearing. Perceptive. Very perceptive. Interesting how when she held less tightly to her mind as a child that she would notice these things, her talents beginning to manifest even then. She was sensing the veil, the memories imbued in the earth and the spring and the stone itself. The trees saw things in forests like this.

“This place is important to you,” he said, though it wasn’t a question. The quality of the memory alone attested to that.

“I wish I could go back sometimes,” she admitted, “More often since...”

Her voice trailed off, and she looked away, though she seemed unwilling to dwell on the feeling for long, peering up at him through the curtain of her hair.

“Why did you stay? Really?”

“Curiosity? Duty? You?” he replied, sidestepping what he was now convinced was a pointed question. He had to be careful, together like this in the fade lying was so much harder, but his words weren’t untrue at least. “I thought of running. Somewhere far away, to find some way of closing it.”

Her cheeks coloured a little, but she didn’t seem otherwise perturbed. Interesting. A smile still played about the corners of her mouth as though there was something funny, drawing his attention for a moment longer than necessary before his gaze returned to her eyes. They were laughing too, and this may have been the happiest he’d seen her. “But where would you go, hahren?”

Solas shrugged. “I never said it was a very good plan.”

“You were never going to wake up,” he continued, struck again by the strange desire to tuck the escaping strands of her hair blowing across her face behind her ear. “How could you? A mortal, sent physically through the fade. That you survived is… remarkable. You show a resilience of will and mind I have not seen since...”

“Since?” She raised an eyebrow, and oh this was dangerous. He should have stopped, but he didn’t. Should have, could have, didn’t.

He cleared his throat. “Since my deepest travels into the fade. You do not know what a rare creature you are, lethallan.”

“Is that so, hahren?” How could she still find this funny? She stepped closer, though they’d barely been apart to begin with. Still there was a quiet challenge in her voice. “Just how rare?”

She was different in the fade - brighter, bolder. More reckless.

“What has gotten into you, lethallan?” He was beginning to question whether he was truly with her in the fade, or he’d fallen into one of his own dreams instead. No, he did not know this place. He was certainly not dreaming.

Her gaze drifted to his lips and lingered there. “What do you mean, hahren?”

They were inches apart, so close… Solas bowed his head.

“This is dangerous, reckless. We shouldn’t…”

They shouldn’t. But he wanted to, badly. She merely smiled, catching his eyes and holding them there. He couldn’t look away.

Her fingers curled around his jaw, and her gaze shifted to his lips for a moment before returning to him. He didn’t pull away. “Is that not the idea, da’len?”

She was the one who closed the distance, balancing on her toes as she turned his head. Her lips were gentle, chaste for all her boldness, but their very presence was powerful. It was barely a kiss, barely a taste and it wasn’t enough. She dropped back down to her heels, smiling coyly up at him with one arm still toying with his collar. That simply wouldn’t do.

He shook his head at her, before she could turn away and caught her mouth again, throwing all caution and common sense to the wind. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her to him and she went rigid, surprised only for a moment before melting like butter against him. She was so tiny, waif-like, warm; her hands balling in the fabric of his shirt.

Hands dropping to her hips, he guided them back until she was pressing against one of the trunks. A small noise of surprise escaped her, but was quickly swallowed by hungry mouths and gasping breaths. He trapped them both there, pressing closer to the warmth of her body, the heat on her skin.

His hands ghosted up her sides, feeling the contrast between silken fabric and the rough bark behind her. One hand cupped her jaw, playing with the collar of her robe and then running along the seam, following the line of exposed skin down her chest. She freed a hang and snaked it up to brush against the back of his skull, fumbling slightly, but reaching for an ear massaging the tip and earning an agonised moan hot against her skin. It took every ounce of his strength to break away.

“We can’t… it isn’t right. Not even here.”

“Here?” She seemed almost offended at the interruption -she wasn’t the only one- her eyes searching his face, but still not paying attention to the full levity of his words.

“Where did you think we were?” he continued, still intimately aware of the soft caress of her fingers on the shell of his ear.

Her sleepy smile dropped as realisation dawned on her. Sudden, horrifying realisation.

“This isn’t a dream.” It wasn’t a question. Her cheeks had already been flushed, but new colour flooded them blotchy and red in the dappled light, She went to bury her face against his chest, and then remembered once again where they were and covered her face in her hands instead.

“We are asleep,” he began, realising that she hadn’t shifted away from him, not entirely. Dream implied there had been others. He tucked a finger under her chin to lift her face, and two violet eyes peeked out at him between her fingers. “...Do you do this often, lethallan?”

She muttered something that sounded like ‘Creators preserve me,’ the words muffled against her hands as they covered her face again. She looked for all the world as though she wished the earth would open and swallow her, and if she wasn’t careful it would do just that.

Carefully, he extricated himself from their tangle of limbs and bodies, albeit somewhat reluctantly. Now was not the time or place. Ily let her hands fall, but seemed unable to look him in the eye for all her bluster earlier. That confidence was suddenly making more sense.   
  
“I think this may be a matter better discussed when you,” he took one last look at the robe before stepping away and the scene dissolved.

“Wake up.”


	5. An Author's Note

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will be added to the summary of the next chapter when it's up.

Hey guys, just wanted to thank you all for reading this far and commenting: I love hearing what you have to say! This is just a quick PSA to let you know that I'm also working on a companion piece to this fic (a prequel: _For Her_ ) that has the first chapter up now, with more to come. You can check it out by clicking on the Revolutionary series in the info at the top of the page. This fic will continue to get updated, but will be a little slower as I want to get the prequel done quickly for reasons. You can read this fic completely on it's own of course, but I'd definitely encourage checking out the other: it also involves Solas/Ily albeit in slightly different incarnations based on a littl headcanon of mine. The prequel will be a lot shorter, but will enhance your reading of this one - more feels for everyone!.

Cheers,  
threelittlebirds


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